


party trick

by laurus_nobillis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Oral Fixation, Party Scenes, Public Sex, everything is consensual and no one is drunk, i'm sorry that's a terrible joke, implied female reader, no beta this is my cross to bear, oral sex (male receiving), so much fucking eye contact, tw: alcohol, tw: beer pong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29202348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurus_nobillis/pseuds/laurus_nobillis
Summary: The flirtatious touches, the shit-eating grins, the excitement is all catching up to you at once as you feel something prodding at your ass and suddenly the room is much too small and there are too many other people around. Is it the room that’s getting so hot? Or is it his breath fanning over your ear as he leans down to whisper,“watch that bratty mouth’a yours.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	party trick

**Author's Note:**

> there may be a part two and three coming, if anyone wants it
> 
> yes i did search into the deep recesses of my memory to write about a college party

The thumping bass of the party’s music rings through your skull like a warning. You’re definitely up to trouble tonight you think as you walk up the porch steps of the slightly busted-up house. The sounds of people and music and general frat house happenings trickle out the slightly opened door as what you assume are fellow students are smoking in the cool air of the autumn night. 

You’re seemingly transported into another, much louder, dimension as you push through the threshold, elbow to elbow with sweaty people laughing, drinking, talking loud to be heard over the music. The noise blurs into a deafening buzz in your ears as you shuffle through the crowd, trying to find the kitchen or bar or wherever you can get your hands on some alcohol. 

The pregame shot you did wasn’t enough to make this initial entrance any easier - you always needed to be at least tipsy to enjoy these kinds of parties. You wouldn’t ever admit that maybe it was nerves making you so party-adverse tonight. It was nice, though, to blend in so easily. You could watch and not worry if you were being watched back, everyone around you was too lost in their own inhibitions to really care at all about you. 

You manage to find someone wearing a greek letter shirt to pour you whatever kind of punch it is that they’ve made, rolling your eyes when he mentions that _“girls drink free”_ , signaling your thanks with a wave of your hand as you find a nice wall to lean on. No one was paying any attention to you, and you liked that. Hopefully you could spend just enough time here to fulfil your obligation presented by your being invited, and then find any other place to be. Someone was paying attention to you, though you didn’t realize it right away. 

“Hey!” A familiar voice cuts through the music and shouting, and a pair of brown eyes lock with yours. 

Shit, you think, waving and smiling in response, it’s _this_ motherfucker. 

The only reason you’re here is because you were invited. It happened maybe because you were in the wrong place at the right time, or the right place at the wrong time, either way it wasn’t your first choice. You shared a class with some members of your school’s volleyball team, a few of whom also happened to be members of a frat that your roommate’s sorority often held mixers with. It was a loose connection, but it was enough. 

The subject of mixers came up as you waited in your seats for the professor to show up. They were typically running a few minutes behind, so you often used this time to socialize, catch up, or just scroll through your phone and decompress from the rest of your day up until that point. Your roommate is chatting with a classmate, Koutarou, _“but call me Bokuto!”_ he insists, and they throw around some greek letters that you never bothered to learn. 

“Tonight?” She asks, and Bokuto confirms, pulling out his phone to send her an address. You’re only half paying attention when another classmate, Shoyo, is trying to get your attention. He repeats your name, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“You’re coming, right?” He asks as he leans backwards in his seat, trying to close some of the distance between his row and yours just above him. You look at your roommate next to you, quirking a brow as if to ask, _“coming where?”_

“Yes, we’ll _both_ be there,” she offers, winking at Shoyo as he grins. The professor walks in, hair a mess and clutching a briefcase with loose pages falling out in one hand and a sleek laptop in the other. Before the door can close behind them, a tall figure slips in and tries to shuffle quietly into the seat next to Bokuto. You keep your eyes trained on him, watching like you always do when he shows up late. You’ve never spoken a word to him, because he almost never gets to this class on time, but you’re pretty sure he’s Bokuto’s roommate and is on the volleyball team as well. This time, he locks eyes with you, and stops for a moment before dropping his bag on the floor next to his seat

“Ah, Mr. Miya, good to see you on time as always,” the professor notes as they flip on the projector. He holds your eye contact for a moment, before turning to the professor to give a very half-hearted and sarcastic salute before dropping down into his chair. Once the professor begins lecturing, he turns over his shoulder to look up at you, flashing an extremely charming lopsided grin and raises his brows as if to say, _“oops, looks like I got caught”_ before turning back around. 

The lecture is completely lost on you as your thoughts are consumed by the way his gaze seemed to pierce right through you when you locked eyes before, and you felt you had been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing. And then that stupid grin, as if the whole incident was some inside secret that you two shared, despite the entire class there to witness it. 

Miya Atsumu, the setter for your school’s D1 volleyball team, already being scouted by professional leagues, with the smooth drawl and eyes that trap you in them like flies in honey. You’ve never known someone whose entire vibe clings to your skin like a long summer day, the same kind of feeling as the way the afternoon heat permeates the air and can only be relieved by a cold shower, and even then it’s only a temporary fix. 

That same stupid grin is moving towards you now, broad shoulders blocking you from the LED lights flashing in the living room. 

“You made it,” he observes, and you nod and shout back that, yeah, you did. “You like the place?” His gesture over his shoulder reminds you that this is his house.

After class earlier, he stood out in the lobby of the building with you, your roommate, Bokuto and Shoyo. Your roommate suggested that you all get lunch together off campus, since you didn’t really have a chance to talk before class about this party that you were now invited to. 

The five of you share actual introductions, and Shoyo sitting next to you tells you more than you ever intended to know about volleyball, and the team they were all on, and that Atsumu has a twin brother who’s also on the team, and that they all live together off campus and that the party was going to be awesome and he was excited for you to come. Your head spins with the onslaught of information, but with the way he and Bokuto are grinning at you and Atsumu is watching your reaction intently is nothing short of charming and makes it palatable. 

It’s not lost on you that these three (and you assume Osamu because, well, _twins_ ) are all absolutely built, athletic frames towering over you, with the exception of Shoyo, who’s a little closer to eye level. It’s also not lost on you how Atsumu leans on his elbows when he starts asking you questions about yourself. He seems actually interested, and you can’t help to hope that he is, despite yourself. 

And now in your slightly buzzed state, you’re eager for his attention. He leans on his elbow again as he talks to you, but this time it’s on the wall that you’re leaning on, hiding you even more from the lights and people. The LED strip lights shift from a deep blue to a bright magenta, giving Atsumu a nearly ethereal glow as you stand in the dim shadow he casts, locked into his gaze again. 

The alcohol in your veins leaves you feeling warm and confident, as you decide to see how long you can get him to keep those eyes on you. 

“I didn’t know you were so popular,” you say, just barely loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise. “Did Shoyo invite everyone he knows?”

The chuckle that rumbles from deep in his chest sends a spark through you as your cheeks flush, and you give him a cheeky smile that makes him break eye contact to take a drink. 

“He was pretty excited, huh?” He drawls, moving to cross his arms and lean back against the wall shoulder to shoulder with you. His knees are bent slightly so he can be at eye level, scanning the room as you take a nervous slug of your punch. 

You like that he’s so confident, honestly. Over lunch Bokuto and Shoyo are (humbly) bragging about how the Jackals are going all the way this year, and it wouldn’t be possible with a setter like Atsumu. He casually mentions that anyone that can’t hit his sets _sucks_ , and you’re taken aback by how easily he can be so bold, but you think that it suits him. Bokuto says something to him and they argue for a moment, and you’re stuck on the way he speaks so passionately about what he loves, even if he does come off cocky. You’re also stuck on his jawline and the way his biceps flex as he bickers with his teammate. 

You take another nervous drink as your eyes roam over his form, before he manages to catch your gaze again. Seriously, it feels like he’s got some kind of sixth sense, always aware of when you’re looking at him. You hold his gaze this time, enjoying the way the reflection of the lights reflects in his eyes and you’re close enough to smell whatever cologne it is he’s wearing and-

“Wanna head upstairs?” He motions to your left at the narrow staircase, and as soon as you shrug he takes your hand and starts pulling you through the crowd. You don’t know what’s going on up there, but with the way his large hand grips yours so protectively you don’t think it matters too much. 

The dimly lit stairway leads to a spacious second floor, with what was probably once a bedroom opened up into a second living area. There’s a suspiciously sunken-in couch, a dry bar, and even more music. The light is faint up here as well, without the intense glow of the color-changing LEDs. You can see him just a little better, too. 

In the middle of the room you see Bokuto and Shoyo setting up a long table and a bunch of red solo cups among the slightly smaller crowd that’s formed up there, and as soon as they see you and Atsumu at the threshold of the stairs you’re waived over, Shoyo calling your name excitedly as he waves around a neon yellow ping pong ball. 

“Perfect timing!” he almost shouts over the thumping bass, “we were looking for another team, you have to play us!” Bokuto backs him up with an echo of _“Play us!”_ through the crowd as he crosses the room to lean over the bar and flip a switch. Suddenly the ping pong ball in his hand is glowing, along with the white rims of the solo cups and all of the details on Shoyo’s shirt. 

“It’s glow-in-the-dark pong,” Bokuto says in a very matter-of-fact tone, now standing next to Shoyo with his hands on his hips. 

Atsumu rumbles a chuckle from close behind you, then leans down to say, _“Didya hear that? Glow in the dark,”_ as he trails one hand down to the small of your back. He leans forward to adjust the cups on the table and then looks back at you with a thick brow raised in a challenge that you have to accept. You roll your eyes and grin, leaning slightly back into the hand he still has on your back as he straightens up.

“Well, what are the house rules?” You ask, as Bokuto cheers and Shoyo quickly explains that, yes you can finger or blow, elbows stay behind the table, and bounces count. Atsumu watches you intently as you nod, realizing this isn’t your first time. You can feel his eyes on you even in the dark, and a warmth creeps up the back of your neck that you can’t entirely blame on the one cup of punch you’ve managed to drink. 

Atsumu wins the toss-off against Bokuto, handing you a little glowing ball as he steps back to let you start the game. You line up your elbow with the edge of the table and focus, this one relatively unimportant shot feeling much more intense when you know who’s watching you. Maybe the pressure gets to you, because the ball hits the rim of an outside cup and bounces off the table, Shoyo catching it easily. 

You cross your arms with a huff as Atsumu scoffs, easily reaching over you to lob his own ball across the table where it lands in the center cup. 

“I thought ya knew what you were doing,” he mocks, making a face that’s equal parts shitty and charming. “Maybe I should be on Shoyo’s team?” 

“It was a warm-up shot,” you tell him, rolling your eyes, “I don’t want to peak too early.” He laughs at that, a sound that almost gets lost over the din of the music but you feel like it vibrates through you louder than the thumping bass. 

Shoyo takes his turn next, and now Atsumu’s got you feeling competitive, so naturally you ignore him as best as you can to get your head into the game. You’ve never taken something this dumb so seriously before, but that thought is gone from your mind as soon as the glowing yellow ball is making its way towards your cups. It bounces once, and before it can land anywhere you grab it out of the air, prompting a disgruntled sound from Shoyo, and then Bokuto’s tossing and absolutely whiffs it. You laugh lightheartedly as the typically over-excited two across the table look visibly deflated for a moment. 

“Be careful,” Atsumu laughs, “Shoyo is actually crazy competitive, we won’t stand a chance if ya keep suckin’ at this.” You feign offense as you push him behind you with a pouty, _“just watch”_ before lining up your shot. 

You don’t know exactly what it is about the situation that’s making you feel so confident. Normally you hate these kinds of things, parties and playing beer pong and the way your shoes stick to the wood floors just a little when you try to move. Normally you needed to be much more inebriated to hang out this long without trying to escape, but even with less alcohol than usual there’s a buzzing in your veins. 

You take that unusual bout of confidence and decide to bend over just a little bit in front of him, swaying your hips as you take an unnecessary amount of time preparing. You land it, much to Bokuto and Shoyo’s dismay, and you turn to Atsumu whose eyes suddenly snap up to yours. You can barely make out a light flush on his cheeks as you step aside to signal his turn. You notice that he doesn’t have a drink anymore. His eyes stay locked on yours as he steps up, and at the last second looks away as he turns to shoot. 

The game continues like this, the two of you tossing jeers and playful jabs back and forth, not unlike the actual game you’re supposed to be focused on. Every turn you get a little bolder and he gets a little closer, until eventually he’s holding you pressed up against him, arms around your waist and chin on your shoulder as you land another shot. You turn in his arms to face him as you cheer, draping your arms around his neck while he grins down at you, sending another tingle through you that lingers when you turn back around. You’re hooked on the feeling of his hands on you and the way his grip tightens when you tease him. 

“I thought you were the best D1 setter,” you muse, but then there’s a shift in the temperature of the room when you lean back to taunt him, telling him, _“anyone who can’t sink these cups sucks,”_ in a familiar mocking drawl. 

The flirtatious touches, the shit-eating grins, the excitement is all catching up to you at once as you feel something prodding at your ass and suddenly the room is much too small and there are too many other people around. Is it the room that’s getting so hot? Or is it his breath fanning over your ear as he leans down to whisper, _“watch that bratty mouth’a yours.”_

Oh. 

There’s a new game now, and you both seem to understand the unspoken rules.

“Wanna see what else this mouth can do?” 

That gets his attention. 

The game ends with Shoyo and Bokuto winning, but you’re much too concerned with your new game to really care about anything else. Atsumu’s hands don’t leave your waist at any point while you two shuffle back through the crowd towards the lumpy couch huddled in the corner. He plops himself down, pulling you down to sit sideways on his lap. The hand on your waist lazily traces up and down your back, leaving electricity in its wake. 

“Yer more of a handful than I thought,” he muses as his mouth finds your neck, trailing hot kisses from your collarbone to your jaw. You hum as you lean into his touch, your hands testing the soft fabric of his t-shirt. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you start, and he hums back, the deep rumble vibrating against your throat. You suddenly feel vulnerable, and you decide to up the ante. “You’d know me better if you ever showed up to class on time, lazy ass.” 

His teeth sink into the tender flesh of your jugular and you gasp, balling your fist in his shirt. His tongue circles the sore spot before he pulls off with a wet _pop_ , and you know that’s a mark you’ll have to explain to your roommate in the morning. 

He straightens up, still holding you firm in his grasp, and looks at you with those honey-brown eyes in a way that’s different than before. There’s some kind of predatory glint in his hooded gaze that makes you feel small, like you’re the mouse and he’s the cat in this game. The thought of it sends a jolt of electricity straight between your thighs as he effortlessly shifts you in his lap to be straddling him. 

“Be careful who yer talkin’ to,” he grumbles as his lips find your throat again, “I don’t always play nice.”

You’re no mouse, though, and you want to play, too. 

“Neither do I,” you sigh as you tangle your hands into his hair and pull him up to capture his lips in a bold kiss.

You’re buzzing, nearly vibrating with excitement as the floodgates open and his hands are desperately searching your body. His touch feels like flames flickering around you, and you realize it’s him that was warming up the room, his desire and your own igniting like a bomb under your skin. You neither notice nor care that there are people around, not at first at least. 

He groans into your kiss as he shifts his hips, and you can feel him getting excited, too. He offers to take you to his room, just down the hall, but that’s ending the game too soon. Sure, you want to know what he looks like when he’s thrusting into you, calling your name in that infuriatingly charming drawl of his, but you’re determined to have the upper hand in this. 

“I have a better idea,” you breathe as you pull back from his kisses, and he raises a curious brow at you. You motion your head towards the bar along the wall that has gone mostly ignored all night. “That bar,” you begin, “does anyone ever use it?”

He seems to be picking up on your hints. “No,” he shakes his head, “all the drinks are downstairs.”

“Good. Give me a two minute head start, and then I’ll show you what else this _bratty mouth_ can do.” You punctuate your offer with another heated kiss, before you peel yourself off of him, drinking in his bemused expression. 

You slink through the crowd across the room before landing at the bar. As soon as the coast is clear, you duck behind it, settling yourself on your knees in the open space where there was probably once a beer fridge. Not the coziest or classiest spot, but you’re at least thankful that it’s tall enough to not have to crouch. You’re worried for a moment that maybe this was too bold, or that he wasn’t okay with being in such a compromising position, but your fears dissipate when you hear his voice nearby, rejecting an offer for another game of beer pong. 

Excitement bubbles in your throat when he steps around the bar, locking eyes with you kneeling underneath it for a split second before he casually looks around the room, taking his phone out of his pocket. 

“Ya know,” he says quietly, not looking down at you, “you’ll never live this down if ya get caught.” There’s an edge to his voice that tells you he’s just as excited as you are. 

“Then don’t get us caught,” you tease as you press forward on the balls of your feet to undo his belt. _“Be cool, Miya.”_

You don’t need him to tell you that he’s ready, not when you finally get his pants down around his ankles and see his cock already straining at the waistband of his boxer briefs. You carefully watch his reaction as you release it from its confines, gently spreading the precum that has gathered at his flushing tip. He’s bigger than you expected, and you’re definitely not disappointed. 

“Like what ya see?” You roll your eyes, hating how easy it is for him to act so calm while you’re slowly stroking his length, working him until he’s fully erect in front of you. You know that more than anything you want to crack that lazy expression of his, to ruin his composure and watch him fall apart, even at the risk of being caught. 

The thrill of being so close to the other partiers has you more excited than you realized as you can feel the warm dampness growing between your legs. If it weren’t for his cocky attitude, or the way that he gets so passionate about what he loves, or that stupid, _charming_ , shit-eating grin, you wouldn’t have put yourself in this position, literally, kneeling under a bar in the dark with people mere feet from you. 

But you are, and you’re enjoying the _hell_ out of it. You’re making sure he is, too, when you catch his eye. He can’t look away as you drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, lifting up just enough at the tip to let your saliva trail off, before working up a sizable gob of it that you let dribble onto the head of his now throbbing cock. His jaw visibly tenses as he looks away, anywhere but at your sultry gaze as you stroke him slowly with one hand. The other hand trails along his sensitive thigh, and you can feel his muscles tense as you ghost over his skin. 

You grip his thigh a little tighter as you take him in your mouth slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. You set an agonizing pace, swirling your tongue around his leaking head and then dragging it slowly across his frenulum, prompting a slight jerk of his hips as he starts to just barely lose his grip. You look up to try and see his reaction but he’s leaning forward onto the bar now, blocking your view. Your eyes widen as you realize he’s trying to hide you from whoever it is that has tried to start a conversation with him. It sounds like Shoyo, but it’s too difficult to tell. 

You hate that just knowing he’s embarrassed and trying to play it off cool right in front of someone is getting you even more worked up, and you squeeze your thighs together for even a tiny bit of the friction you’re starting to desperately crave. It’s not enough, though, so while he’s momentarily distracted, you reach down between your legs to try and relieve yourself of just a little bit of pressure. You’re somehow surprised at how wet this whole ordeal has gotten you, fingers sliding around your puffy folds without any resistance as you move to gently circle your clit. Despite yourself, you moan around his cock, the vibrations sending goosebumps up the skin of his thigh. 

That’s enough to urge you on, and you hollow your cheeks as you begin to bob on his length, your free hand drifting from his thigh to cup and gently squeeze his heavy balls. You can tell that his resolve is starting to crumble even more, and the thought of what his needy face might look like has you picking up the pace as you chase your own high, rocking your hips to grind into your own hand. You’re so focused on your own ministrations that you don’t realize he’s caught a glimpse of you fingering yourself while you suck him off, and you don’t see the way he has to bite his fist to keep from groaning out loud. 

He braces the bar again with one hand while the other snakes down to grab a fistful of your hair. You jump at the surprising sensation, letting out another whiny mewl that vibrates around his throbbing cock. He holds your head steady while he takes control, and you slow your breathing and try to relax as he slides himself further in, until your nose is barely nuzzled up against his neatly trimmed hairs. He stills for a moment while you finally steady your breathing before swallowing around him, drool pooling at the corners of your eager mouth. 

That’s all the signal he needs to begin thrusting into your mouth, using his grip on your hair to keep you still. You don’t know how he can do this without anyone noticing, or maybe you don’t care, because all that matters right now is the way his thighs begin to shake and his thrusts become more erratic. The strain on your jaw has tears pricking in your eyes, and the lack of air makes your head swim, but you keep at it. You try to swallow around him again, but a particularly sharp thrust has you choking and sputtering around him, grasping at his thighs with both hands to keep yourself upright. 

The tension in your jaw is relieved when he loosens his grip on your hair and pulls out halfway. You know he’s close, and he’s probably eager to get it over with before getting caught. You peer up to see him looking back down at you, jaw tight and eyes pleading, asking for your permission. You nod silently, eyelids heavy. He leans back slightly as he braces the bar with both hands, knuckles white against the solid wood. You bring one hand up to stroke him while you bob around his head while his thighs quake, and when he finally tips over the edge his cum hits the back of your throat in thick ropes. You lean back, your jaw slack as you milk him for all he’s worth, doing your best to catch all of his sticky seed in your mouth. 

His labored breathing begins to even out as you sloppily lick him clean, feeling pretty damn good about yourself. You help him get his pants back on somewhat quickly, and he pretends to drop his phone as an excuse to bend down behind the bar. You lean in for a messy kiss, but he dodges you, instead saying, “My room. Two minutes.” 

You grin as he straightens up and walks out into the crowd, leaving you under the bar for a moment to imagine the kind of reward you’re going to get for a job well done. You smooth down your hair while you count down the seconds until you think the coast is clear. You almost make it out unscathed until you make eye contact with Shoyo, who’s standing about a foot away from you. 

His gears seem to turn for a second before he quickly looks away in the direction of Atsumu’s room, stuttering something about having you something on your face. You furrow your brows, giving him a confused expression until you remember, and searing embarrassment burns through to your core. 

The _fucking_ black light. 

The motherfucker had to know your face was probably lit up like a christmas tree and didn’t say a damn thing. You do your best to casually cover yourself (and it’s not very successful) before booking it towards Atsumu’s room down the hall, trying to ignore the way actually getting caught has you worked up all over again. Poor Shoyo. You were going to make sure Atsumu paid you back for this.


End file.
